Fiyero sat by the
river's edge rather dejectedly, staring at his own reflection. It
was so, in fact, out of character for him to sit so still, that the
author herself got so incredibly bored after the first sentence—so
utterly bored that she made the idiot move.

It was a very small
movement, very obscure, but even the most rude of motions can make a
lady squeal and through a small projectile at someone. Fiyero had, of
course, no idea what flipping up your middle finger at someone meant,
but good Lord, no one tell him.

"Someone is saying
something," Fiyero muttered to himself, still transfixed. "But I
have no idea where it's coming from."

It was here that the
poor fool convinced himself that he had a little person talking in
his head. He was indeed confused when he realized that he couldn't
possibly have a little person in his head, because even a munchkin
couldn't fit in there. But that was heavily beside the point.

Fiyero decided to tell
Elphaba, and the author laughed at him.

"Elphaba, I have a
little person in my head telling me to make out with you
passionately, so I think that I should follow its instructions! And
yet, I can't possibly fathom the reason as to why it wants me to!"
His expression was so comical that, for once, Elphaba found she
couldn't come up with a snappy remark.

"Curious," she did
say, though. "A small person has been telling me to make out with
Galinda—it's rather scared me, actually."

After brief
squabbling, Fiyero and Elphaba decided to confront Galinda to see if
she had heard anything unusual within the caverns of her mind. She
had, in fact, and told them with bated breath.

"The person told me
to make out with Biq! What a complete coincidence!"
Apparently, she was unfazed by the fact that Elphaba had been
told make-out with her. "It was a very different experience, I'll
tell you."

So Galinda had
actually gone and listened to voice, the author thought, bemused.
Would she ever stop being so gullible? Make out with Boq. . . .

"You actually made
out with Boq, Galinda?"

"Elphie, the voice
knows all—if I had denied it, I might have suffered a greatly
painful death."

"Galinda, the voice
told me to make out with you—would you like that?" Elphaba
scowled.

The question as to
which Galinda had no answer.

"Elphaba," Fiyero
warned, "I really do believe I should make out with you now."

Fiyero looked over at
her and nodded quietly. "But somehow I do believe I don't like
that name. 'Stock'. There's something oddly . . . bothersome
about it."

Galinda's face
pinched up. "You're right—it sounds like a death omen or
something."

"Almost like
something to do with money."

"Eww. Eehh, I name
my kid something else."

"Good shitting
idea!" said Elphaba, still on the ground.

After some more
nonsense, Elphaba had a lump the size of Texas upon her forehead,
although all of them had not a vague idea of what a 'Texas' was
when the voice had so promptly commented about it.

"Maybe a 'Texas'
is a custom shared by little men inside heads," Galinda guessed
quietly.

Soon after, they found
Nessarose attempting to drown herself. After much shrieking on
Elphaba's part, Nessa was hauled upon the dock again. But she
seemed oddly transfixed, and not even the author had a good reason as
to why.

"The voice told me
to," said Nessa mutely afterword.

They made Fiyero push
the silent Nessa along the gloomy-skied grounds, searching for more
victims of the little man's voice. Boq was also prey, found kissing
his foot. He claimed that it tasted of marzipan, and there was no
comment. He was, regardless, hauled along anyway, tugged by Elphaba
who found it quite easy to grab a hold of the back of his shirt and
tow the munchkin where they wanted—it seems that he was
ridiculously light.

When they had finally
reached the Teacher's Lounge, looking for Madame Morrible (to whom
the author just decided they should be looking for) they found
several teachers being ordered to perform ludicrous tasks, such as
cooking each other and making prank phone calls on fake telephones
(since they had no idea what a telephone was).

They all crowded the
stairs up to Morrible's own personal office and knocked on the door
quickly. When the Headmistress opened the door her face fell.

"My word, what has
gone on here?" she asked attentively, eyeing Boq's foot, which
was latched within his mouth.

"Everyone is hearing
voices, telling them to do things—"

"We've all gone
nuts!—"

"I think I'm
dying!—"

"And I haven't got
the faintest why I want to get passionate with my foot!"

Morrible looked over
them all carefully, and a moment later, her face cleared up. "Oh,
my dears, my dears, nothing's the matter with you. After all, the
skies been looking gloomy all day—don't you see?"

Everyone suddenly
looked relieved, much to the author's confusion, because,
apparently, that all made perfect sense to them.

The author would like to thank you for your continued support. Your review has been posted.